She felt Sandavol straighten up behind her. Calming herself, Whitney forced a smile. “Um, yes, that’s me.” And she wasn’t lying. It was her in the photo. But the person with her wasn’t Amelia.

How had Amelia even gotten this photo? And why would she ever put it in her room?

“Who is the person with you?” McAvoy asked.

“Um...just an old friend.” She swallowed hard. “A...a family friend.” That part was a lie, but there was no way she could explain any of this. She didn’t even understand it herself.

Rattled, she backed out of the room. Natalie trailed her.

“Want me to make some tea? Maybe that’ll help,” she offered.

Whitney nodded.

Natalie glided into Whitney’s kitchen, opening drawers and pulling things out as if it were her place. They’d spent a lot of time at each other’s respective homes. She figured she’d know her way just as easily around Natalie’s kitchen. As Natalie filled the teakettle with water, Whitney’s phone buzzed in her pocket.

She yanked the phone out so hard the edge of her jean pocket painted a white stripe on her finger, stinging. She rubbed it swiftly.

“It’s Dan,” she told Natalie. The officers’ voices traveled from down the hallway as she answered.

“Did you call the police yet?” Dan asked, his voice tired, still groggy like earlier. Clearly, he wasn’t able to get any sleep since they’d talked.

“Yeah, they’re here now.”

“Good. Do they have any ideas on what might’ve happened?”

“I get the feeling they think she ran away,” Whitney said.

It was silent a moment. “Remember when she was like four and she got mad at us and packed a bag and said she was running away?”

“Yeah, and then she snuck out and we found her sitting on the neighbor’s front lawn, playing with a baby doll?” Whitney laughed, finishing the story. After a few seconds the laughter died on her lips. “If only it were that simple this time, huh?”

“Hey, I don’t know if it helps at all, but the last time Amelia and I talked she was asking a lot of questions about when we met.”

“But she already knows the story of how we met.”

“She didn’t want to know how we met,” Dan explained now. “She wanted to know more about your life back then. Like stuff about your ex-boyfriend and former friends.”

“Why?” Nervously, she paced back and forth in the living room. The teakettle whistled from the kitchen. Cups clinked together.

“I don’t know. At the time I just assumed she was trying to figure out why you were being so strict. You had just told her she wasn’t allowed to date.”